


Thunder

by WitchcraftAndTrickery



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Logyn - Freeform, Lokyn, Rain, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchcraftAndTrickery/pseuds/WitchcraftAndTrickery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigyn hated storms. At the first cloud that darkened, she would make her way to Loki's rooms, to curl into the arms that seemed to protect her from the squall outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder

It didn't rain often in Asgard. So when it did, it came with a storm.

The water would hammer on the windows like tiny fists knocking impatiently to come in, leaving glassy beads to run their races down the panes. The sky would flash with silvery fire, forked tongues of lightning arcing toward the saturated ground with a sound like the heavens were cracking in two. Then the thunder would come, roaring above the dense black clouds and echoing angrily across the skies until the next came to overpower it. And the wind – it howled despairingly through the streets and fields, wailing like a grief-stricken widow beneath the thunder's rage, striking everything in its path uncaringly aside with such force it would fell trees.

People would bring animals inside, children would climb into bed with their parents, doors would be locked and windows bolted shut. These storms, known colloquially as a _raseri –_ a Fury – occasionally happened each year, without pattern or warning, and had done as long as Asgard had stood atop Yggdrasil.

In the Royal Palace, Prince Thor would stare mesmerised through his window, watching the beauty of the torrents and the thunder. Sometimes he even joined the storm outside, Mjolnir attracting the bolts of electricity like a beacon. On this occasion, the tempest was too great even for the God of Thunder to attempt leaving.

In another room of the palace, two figures were curled beneath a blanket on an ornate bed. They were each other's contrast – one was pallid skin and raven hair, emerald eyes and cut-glass features; the other was rosy cheeks and golden curls, eyes of honey and full lips. He was sharp angles and straight symmetry, where she was soft curves and blurred lines.

Loki's face was buried in her hair, and he inhaled the scent of honeysuckle that seemed to cling to those curls long after she'd unbraided the flowers from them. Sigyn hated the storms. She hated the way the winds abused the plants and trees, the way the lightning and thunder seemed to split the sky in two pieces. At the first cloud that darkened, she would make her way to Loki's rooms, to curl into his arms that seemed to protect her from the squall outside.

Another streak of white across the sky, and Sigyn tensed, her breath hitching. Loki squeezed his arms around her a little tighter, pressing her back against his chest. She pressed her lips to his cold hands. She was always so warm, and he was so cold. Like frost.

"One. Two. Three. Four," Loki counted into her caramel curls, like he and Thor used to do with their father as children. "Five. Six."

The next thunderclap rolled loudly across the clouds, and Sigyn buried her face into his clasped hands with a little whimper. Loki caressed her cheek with his thumb. "It's alright, love," he whispered, rocking her slightly. "It's alright."

"I hate them," came her muffled reply. "I hate them."

Loki chuckled. "There's nothing we can do about them. If there was, then believe me, I would find a way to make them stop."

Sigyn turned her head slightly, looking for his face. "I thought you would have liked them," she mumbled, her voice quizzical.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, perplexed. "I'm not my brother."

"No," murmured Sigyn, "You're definitely not your brother." She paused slightly, and Loki wondered at her words. "The storms," she continued. "They're anarchic. Unordered. They're the epitome of chaos. I thought you might appreciate that, of all people."

Loki smiled. She saw most things in the way he did – which is to say, unlike how most others saw things. It was something that had drawn them together. But she couldn't see the same way about the storms.

"No, they aren't," he explained, slowly. "You always know what to expect with storms. First it gets windy. Then it rains. A thunderclap follows every lightning flash. That is their order. If you concentrate hard enough, you can tell when the lightning is coming."

Sigyn turned over to face him, wincing as another rumble of thunder echoed through the room. "But no one knows when a _raseri_ is coming. That's what they're famous for."

Loki shook his head, smiling lightly. "You can smell them, if you try hard enough. Like metal and rain."

Sigyn looked dumbfounded. "Really?"

"Of course you can. You do, of course, have to have my superior senses and intellect to do so, though."

Sigyn prodded his chest gently. "Alright, I understand," she giggled. "One _can_ know if a stormis coming, but they have to be Loki Odinson?"

Loki chuckled and pulled her closer to him, her wild curls tickling his chin. She was small for an Asgardian, and her form fitted against his perfectly. "Naturally. Who else could understand such delicate changes in the atmosphere?"

Sigyn giggled sleepily, the warmth from her body heating his own icy skin as she hid her face in his chest. As Loki wrapped his arms around her, he considered how strange she must seem to other women. He was no fool, and he knew they preferred his brother – his stronger, louder, livelier brother – to him. He was aware that people found him slightly uncanny, a little dishonest, somewhat cunning. He could charm the last coin from a miser's purse, and it wasn't that people disliked him, but people still preferred the arrogant, foolhardy Thor. Even their own father preferred his elder son.

That was what made Sigyn so special. She loved him. Loki. She didn't care that he wasn't a warrior; she had as much childish delight in mischief and magic as he did; she understood his burning need to learn and explore, because it was something they shared. She was his. It was his arms that she was curled into, his bed she lay in, when she could have had anybody's.

That brought his mind back to something she had said. "Sigyn?" he said softly, hoping she was still awake, as the rain drummed relentlessly on the window.

"Hmm?"

"What did you mean, 'I'm not my brother'?"

"Thor is a good man," she mumbled drowsily. "He doesn't mean to hurt anyone. But at the end of the day, he's an obstinate blockhead with far too much arrogance and far too many people feeding his ego."

Loki tried to quench the delight in his chest that blossomed at her words. He shouldn't be so pleased that his brother was being insulted, but it was exactly what he felt, too. "He's a warrior," he reasoned, purely for the sake of contesting her. "They're all arrogant blockheads."

"Maybe," she sighed, "And I do like him. He's kind and he's charming… But he's not all that clever. He's not like…" She yawned – "He's not like you."

Loki felt a heady smile tug at his lips. His hands stroked the base of her back where they rested, his cheek on the top of her head. "Sigyn?"

"Hmm?"

"You'll marry me, won't you?"

"Of course, love."

Loki chuckled softly. She wouldn't remember that promise in the morning, but it was enough to have it now. Amid all the uncertainty and deceit of Asgardian politics, there was always Sigyn.

With that in mind, he let himself be lulled asleep by the sounds of the pattering rain, his lover's quiet breathing, and the thunder rolling into the distance.


End file.
